Give Me Warmth
by This Muse
Summary: Haku has never felt so cold. Oneshot. WARNING! A little gory. It's very mild though. High T.


The small boy stares at the mangled bodies twisted around the giant spikes of ice jutting into what used to be his home. Torn muscles hang limply on broken bones, and there is a head with a trachea sticking out in the corner of the room. The snow drifting down from the gaping roof soaks red with blood when it touches the ground.

He almost can't recognize his own father.

The man is at the very front of this mess. Multiple shafts of ice protrude from his back, and his spine dangles grotesquely from the tip of one. Blood dribbles down from the corners of his mouth, and there are splatters of crimson on tear-stained cheeks.

Haku does not know what to do.

His mother lay on the ground in front of him, leaking red from her temple. Eyes that used to shine with mirth stare vacantly into nothing.

 _What do I do?_

He stays unmoving in the snow until his lips turn blue and he can't feels his limbs. The already grey skies turn darker as the hours pass, and he wants it to stop snowing, but never once does it pause.

In all his life, Haku has never known what it meant to be cold. While the other children would shiver and sneeze, he could play for hours without batting an eye.

Now it is the only thing he can feel, other than a throbbing ache in his heart.

He finally forces himself to move when his stomach threatens to tear itself open in hunger. His body is stiff and sore, and it groans in protest as he crawls towards his mother's corpse. He brushes the hair out of her face, and she would have looked like she was asleep, if it weren't for the bruises on her jaw and the blood on her cheek. He grabs some snow and wipes off what he can.

 _I'll bury her,_ he decides. _That's what the grownups did when someone died._

It is painstaking. He cannot carry her, because he is too weak, and he can barely drag her. After hours of desperately lugging her around the other bodies outside, he collapses.

 _No,_ he thinks to himself, breathing hard. _Just a little more._

He pushes himself onto shaky legs and forces himself to find a shovel. He tries to dig, but the dirt is rock hard, and the snowflakes only pile higher. His breaths turn shallow, and he pounds at the ground beneath him angrily.

Not even a dent.

Of all the things that happened to him that day, this is the final straw. He falls to his knees, his chest shuddering. Sobs catch in his throat, and he can barely breathe. The grief, the anger, it builds up, and he screams into the air that reeks of death and silence. The cutting edge of betrayal and fear leave crystalline shards in his chest and he is furious, because his mother will rot up here with the rest of them, and it's all his fault. There is blood everywhere, and it's all his fault.

He is broken and alone, and it is all his fault.

The ramshackle house is gutted from the inside out, and he can see the frozen innards that cling to the spears of ice, even from where he stands.

 _I did that._

His hands curl into fists. This is what they were all so afraid of.

What his father hated and feared more than he loved Haku and his mother.

He did not touch a single one of them, did not need to, but somehow he thinks there is something warm and red dripping between his fingers.

 _These hands._

He can't suppress the doubt that bubbles up when he remembers. Screaming. Moaning. Praying. A teenage boy choking out while drowning in his own fluids that this was why.

 _This is why you need to die._

Something dark grows inside of him. It is bitter and sad and full of regret. If only he had been born without this curse. If only he hadn't let his father know. If only his father could have loved him regardless.

 _If only, if only, if only._

What had seemed so beautiful and magical only days before now feels like an ugly scar he needs to hide. A disfigurement that will keep him from ever being truly loved.

His gaze as he stares at his tiny village is hollow. He couldn't stay.

There is nothing left for him here.

There is nothing left for him anywhere.

But if he is going to stay alive, he needs to go somewhere far, far away.

He pulls his mother under the currently barren cherry tree, and prays that no one will find her. He takes a blanket and all the food he can.

Before he leaves, Haku kisses his mother goodbye on her forehead, just like she used to do when she tucked him in at night.

And then he runs and doesn't look back.

* * *

Months have passed. His meager rations are gone, and his blanket is in tatters after frequent abuse. He has numerous scratches from the occasional tussle with stray dogs and other homeless children. The gnawing in his gut is constant, and more than that, he is always, always freezing. He goes to sleep on garbage bags with dreams of curling up next to his mother and father around the hearth, but he can't even remember what that feels like. He wakes up with stiff joints and eyelids stuck together with snow, and he wonders if he will ever feel warm again.

He lives each day fighting to stay alive, and he begins to question why he even tries.

His life is meaningless, his blood a thing to be feared. What was there to live for, when his whole world was snatched away by the cold embrace of death? He wants to end this pointless suffering, to see his family again. It would be so easy to follow them, so very simple.

But something inside of him screams and cries at the thought of dying as a nothing. Of becoming a rotting sack of meat mutts drag into alleys. To die without a single person knowing he was even there. To die unloved and alone. It is terrifying.

So he keeps existing, and he waits for the day someone will see him and need him.

And one day, someone does.

The man is a ninja. Bandages adorn the bottom half of his pale face and his gaze is as sharp as the giant butcher's knife slung across his back. A shining bronze medallion hangs from the handle. When he squats down in front of him he can feel the heat he radiates like a bonfire, and like a moth, Haku is drawn to it.

At first, Haku was afraid. Afraid that they had found out the truth and had sent this man to kill him.

But this was not the case.

He asks Haku to become his weapon. To become his tool.

There is a part of him that balks at the thought. He does not want to hurt anyone again, doesn't want to see the blood or hear the screams.

But the part of him that begs and prays and hungers for that warmth, the warmth of unconditional acceptance and love tells him to take this chance. To clutch it tight even when he sees the coldness in the man's eyes. Because even if he can't be loved, or accepted, he can have a purpose.

The man's name is Momochi Zabuza.

Demon of the Mist, a member of the infamous unit Kiri no Kaijuu, and one of the Legendary Seven Swordsmen. Even Haku, who grew up mostly oblivious to the world outside his home knew who he was. Games of playing ninja with the kids in his village had his name brought up fairly often.

And not only did he want Haku, but he wanted his blood. The very thing most people despised him for, he sought.

 _There won't be another time._

Haku hesitates. But the indecision lasts only seconds before he gives into the hope. The hope that he can feel that warmth again.

* * *

AN: Well. To anyone who made it this far, thank you so much for reading. Really. I've written some stuff before this, and I can say for sure that this isn't as shitty. By my standards, this is pretty good. ( Which is sadly, not very.) I'd like to point out that there are some very tiny references made to Aleycat4eva's fanfic ' of the River and the Sea ', such as the medallion hanging from Zabuza's Kubikiribocho and the Kiri no Kaijuu.

It is an amazing Self-Insert, and I have to say probably the best. Personally, I think it's even better than Dreaming of Sunshine, no offense meant to Silver Queen.

I might have been trying to emulate Aleycat's style a bit, but it's nowhere near as good. *Sigh* How embarrassing.

Anyway. I'm glad I was able to get this out. I'm a very avid reader, but my writing talent isn't exactly all that great. I usually can't get anything down on paper. So although you don't have to, I would greatly appreciate it if you can suggest ways that I could improve, or point out any grammar and/or spelling mistakes I didn't notice. And again, thank you so much.


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